


Depravity and Determination

by Dirtcore Dreams (NakedEye)



Series: Upon Request [17]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, Dirty Talk, Guilty Pleasures, M/M, Raunch, Rimming, Scat, Scent Kink, Scents & Smells, Seduction, Underage Sex, Watersports, musk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 06:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30000984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NakedEye/pseuds/Dirtcore%20Dreams
Summary: Steve knows what Peter wants from him, knows he shouldn't give it. He tells himself he'll keep it clean with the kid, innocent, but he either over-estimated himself, or underestimated the boy.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Steve Rogers
Series: Upon Request [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1082601
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	Depravity and Determination

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't read if it's not your thing, tags are there to help you filter your own content.

Steve shouldn’t be here. It’s a truth he knows deep down in his bones. It flashes like sirens in his mind, warning him of the line he’s about to cross. It comes with the same adrenaline rush, with his body tensing and his mind racing and his heart hammering so hard he can feel his pulse in his temple. He’s in the moment when you have to decide: fight or flight?

But the decision is made for him. The door he’s been standing in front of, running consequences through his head, opens. It should be innocuous. The way Peter does it is intentional. Like a nervous teen checking to see if it’s the pizza guy before shouting for whoever has the cash. His head is just peeked through the opening, his hands gripping the edge tightly. He looks Steve up and down, slowly, and gives a coy, boyish smile.

It feels predatory, despite him being the adult, standing at the kid’s door. “Mr. Rogers-- Captain!” he whisper shouts, checking the hallway for anyone that might recognize a hero, or even just a sketchy situation. “I can’t believe it, you actually came.” He sounds out of breath. Steve can see his shoulders heaving, notes the flush high up on his face, the sweat dripping down his hairline. Something low, low in his belly cracks and fizzles.

“I-uh… wasn’t busy and you asked and kids your age really shouldn’t be left on their own this long,” he scratched the back of his head like this litany of bullshit was convincing anyone. Peter was more than capable of taking care of himself. He wasn’t your average teenage boy in more ways than one. Super powered, super genius, he didn’t need a baby sitter when his aunt had a much earned weekend away. But Steve would take any excuse he could get.

His gaze had drifted to the floor, staring down the dingy grout, one last chance to be honest with himself and step away. He half turned, started to hike a thumb over his shoulder and eke out an excuse, but the door creaked wide first. Just as he was looking up Peter gave him the full view. “Come on in, sir. I’ve been waiting for you.” There’s no darker tone to it, no flip of character. Peter sounds as affable as ever. He’s all boy next door, aw shucks, and yet.

He stands in the entry way, dressed only in cotton briefs. They look like they were once his size, but have been stretched beyond tensity from use. The leg holes barely grip to his thighs, constantly seem threatening to slide down. The waistband puckers and sits oddly. Both show off spidery fringes of tawny pubes. Neither compare to what they frame. The body of the garments, the actual fabric is loose past the point of showing off any definition, but are somehow more obscene for it. The way they sag almost diaper-like on his ass, tent in the front to accommodate a long, skinny boner pointed straight forward.

They are grey with age, yellow with stains, crusty from use. Filth new and old, ingrained and freshly wet are on display. The second the door is fully open Steve is smacked in the face with a pungent, full bodied, dank stench. It is not a single, sickly scent that he can easily pick out. It doesn’t give his brain the immediate, knee jerk response of a gag, doesn’t set off the instinct that this kind of foulness means danger.

It’s… rounder. It has depth. It stinks, but in the way a farm or wetland might. There are layers, multiple pieces working in symphony. To those familiar with it, it is comforting perhaps, homey. Steve is from New York, he’s intimately familiar with recognizing a stink, but somehow enjoying it. He knows what it is to think “that’s _my_ dirt, _my_ grime and depravity.” He spent a lot of time in trenches. Mud and unwashed men and the filth they made standing in a single place for days on end.

As much time as he’s spent all dressed up-- prepped and polished and groomed into an image so squeaky clean no one would dare question it-- that’s the facade. Like Peter, he’s just a dirty kid from a filthy city. Maybe that’s why he came here. Maybe that’s why he steps inside. Maybe that’s just the excuse he gives himself for doing something he knows he shouldn’t.

Peter’s hair is greasy, hangs in limp curtains around his equally oily face. In fact, every inch of him has reached that level of unclean where it seems to have produced a thick film, the kind of thing you could run your finger through and leave a track. He’ll get breakouts on his face from it, his ass and back for sure. Whatever clothes he’s worn will never truly smell fresh again. A single shower won’t do. The dirt and musk and secretions will need to be broken down before they wash away. His mouth waters, and he feels himself harden in turn.

Peter closes the door for them, showing off to Steve the long, dark skid that’s stiff and crackling on his backside. Wads of used up tissues litter the floor. Bottles of amber-brown liquids sit open on the coffee table. Familiar splatters dot the floor, the couch, t-shirts, and empty pizza boxes. It’s teenage boy turned up to eleven. Like bottled, condensed, purified puberty. If every stench a boy made during his entire adolescence was coated like a shellac across the room.

“You gonna clean up my act, Captain?” Steve would almost believe Peter was genuinely reticent, genuinely afraid of being caught with the delivery, except it’s accompanied with the boy dropping trou, putting his body fully on display. His cock is slender and caked with smegma on the throbbing, slick head. His balls are tacky, sticking to the insides of his thighs with every swing. His hole is dark, hairs caked against the crack and cheeks with mess. “I think you’ve got the snuff, sir. I need a guy with a lot of gumption.”

He lays himself on the arm of the couch, propping open his legs, holding apart his ass. Steve can taste him without ever touching tongue to skin. It’s so thick on the air it coats his mouth, is warm and funky when he swallows. He walks slowly over, idly rubs a thumb against Peter’s knee as he looks for a good, long while.

“I’m so dirty. It’s makin’ me itch. You gotta make It good sir, make me like getting spit-shined. It’s everywhere.” He says it in sighs, like a damsel on the edge of feinting. Only Steve can save him. Only Steve can do it right. The boy is clearly desperate and if not him, who? Some other creep willing to touch the kid like this? To taste him… Steve nods.

“Don’t worry kiddo, you’re in good hands.” He gives the same smile he’d give to someone he plucked out of a burning building, calming and warm and full of love. He falls to his knees, runs his forehead along Peter’s thighs, noses against the plush, sticky softness of his sack. He uses his thumbs to press the marshmallowy flesh of Peter’s ass wide and groans softly when the hot, earthy stench hits him in full. “Hold on tight,” is all he has the patience to husk before diving forward, finally indulging. Peter writhes, drool spurts down his chin, shit stains his palate. Steve locks the boy’s legs around his head and burrows deeper, determined to get lost.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this and wanna see more, check out my other stuff, or come hang out on twitter @DirtcoreD I'm most active there, chatting and taking prompts through my curiouscat and the like.


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